The Remnants of Hell
by Riley.Quinn5
Summary: Sam jumped into the pit four years ago. For Dean, anyway. He lives in an old cabin, obsessed with getting Sam out of that cage. Sam, on the other hand, was stuck with Lucifer and Michael for 480 years. So when one day Sam is found alive on the streets of Detroit, he must find his way back into normal society. Except he wasn't left as unscathed as Dean when he got out of Hell.
1. Chapter 1

**Sam's POV**

The first thing I remembered when I woke up was Lucifer. His face, his haunting laugh. I immediately cowered away from the blinding light in my eyes, thinking it was some new form of torture. Then the light cleared, and I was… in a hospital? He must be placing me in some new twisted reality again. He had tried this before, trying to break me mentally, but he gave up when he couldn't get Dean right. Suddenly I felt woozy, and my head got all fuzzy, then the world slowly goes into darkness, right before an intense pain in my chest blooms and I gladly welcome the blackness. It's always better than Lucifer's little social experiments from the Cage.

**Nobody's POV**

When the paramedics rolled into the ambulance bay at Shea Medical Center in Detroit, Michigan, the last thing any of the hospital staff expected to see was this. A man, barely 20 years old seemingly, covered in scars. His whole body. Including his face. They all froze in shock until the paramedics quickly jolted them back into motion with demanding voices.

"Male, approximately 25 years old, third-degree burns on his back, along with several bleeding gashes on the abdomen, arms, and legs, along with across his eye. He stopped breathing in the ambulance. We administered morphine in the field, as well as epi. We have been performing CPR for 10 minutes now," the male paramedic with dark hair finished and hesitated before adding, "Oh my god. I think I know him." When his partner looked at him like he was crazy, he shook his head and headed outside to make a phone call after Sam was rushed into surgery.

"Dean? Dean Winchester?" Cal asked with a whisper.

"Who the hell is this? And why the hell are you calling at 2 in the morning?" Dean's rough voice sounded from the other side of the phone.

"This is Cal, Cal Roberts. You saved me and my fiancée from one of those 'wendigoes' as you called it," he asked with hopefulness.

After a minute of hesitation, Dean replied with, "Oh yeah, yeah, Cal, and uh, Olivia, right? Up in Michigan? Detroit?" Dean asked, his voice still laced with sleep.

"Yeah, that's us. Anyway, you wanted me to call if I ever saw that guy in the picture you showed me. I'm a paramedic, you said he might be injured?" Cal asked, waiting for a response.

"Sam? Yeah, uh, did you, uh, did you see him?" Dean asked, not wanting to get his hopes up. Those first few months after Sam took the swan dive, Dean had shown Sam's picture around to everyone, whoever would listen. Cal and Olivia happened to be paramedics in Detroit, the very place Sam… left.

"Dean? You still there?" Cal's voice came over the receiver.

"Yeah, um, sorry, what'd you say?" He asked, letting the slightest bit of hope bleed into his voice.

"We found him. We just rushed him into Shea Medical Center in Detroit. But Dean, he was in horrible shape. I have to warn you, he might not make it. I just wanted to let you know. It's the least I could do, after everything you helped me with," Cal responded, before receiving a quick thanks from Dean and then the familiar click of the receiver.

**Dean's POV**

As I ended the phone call, my heart felt like it was about to beat out my chest. I had asked around, sure, a little obsessively, but I never expected anyone to call back. Not really. I knew he was gone, but I couldn't move on. I found Lisa and Ben when a year had passed, but I was drunk every night, nightmares constantly, and I couldn't keep staying with them. I couldn't put them through it also. But it had been 4 years since Sammy jumped. Saved the world, sacrificing himself in the process. It nearly killed me. I now lived out in one of Bobby's old cabins, down in Flagstaff, Arizona. I didn't even bother doing the math in my head. I was down under for 4 months, 40 years. But 4 years? That's over four centuries for Sammy. Suddenly he was in the Impala, racing towards Detroit. If it was Sam, he wasn't going to take any chances. He had to know. According to the map, it would take him 28 hours straight. He made it in 18. He skidded to the front of the hospital, parking messily and rushing inside, scaring the receptionist half to death when he yelled for information on his brother.

"Sir, calm down, please. Now, what is your brother's name?" She asked politely, despite his rude entrance.

"Yeah, sorry, um, Sam Winchester," he apologized, mentally smacking himself when he realized he gave Sam's real name. He shot her a small smile as she passed him the paperwork.

About an hour later a doctor came and got him. He had a grim look on his face. His knees nearly gave out. The doctor explained how he was having seizures when he was brought in, which was fixed by brain surgery, supposedly releasing pressure on his brain or some shit. Then he explained how he wasn't alive when he was brought in, that they had been able to revive him only to lose him 3 more times on the table when they were operating on his chest. Apparently he broke all his ribs and one of them managed to puncture a lung, which put strain on his kidneys and liver, resulting in surgery. He hesitated before continuing. He told me about the scars. He said he was covered in them. I asked to see him. He told me to be careful with him, because he was restrained when he freaked out on the nurses, saying they were the Devil. My heart nearly stopped beating at that. We finally reached his room, and I almost couldn't bring myself to go in. I peeked my head around the corner into his room, and my knees buckled. Sammy. Oh god. I was going to be sick, but I was able to hold it down. Instead, I proceeded, and sat down, gently placing a soft hand on his shoulder, but regretting it when Sam violently flinched back, letting out a strained 'stop'.

"Sammy, it's me, Dean," I say, my voice breaking slightly at his feeble attempts to push me away.

"No, stop, please, just let me go, not Dean, please," Sam mumbles under his breath as he swats my hands away with little success.

His eyes finally close and his breathing evens out after a few minutes and I begin to study him. I start at his face. He has a long jagged scar that is barely visible running down his right eye, and there is a smaller gash that ran across his left cheek, and to top it off, there was a small burn scar near his left ear, reaching down to the top of his neck. Then his hospital gown covered the rest of his body, but underneath it, I could see the extensive amount of bandages most likely keeping him together and it made my eyes water. I couldn't let him sit here in this hospital and be poked and prodded by doctors, who were trying to find answers to questions that didn't fit their expertise. He would discharge Sam, take him to Bobby's. He just spent 480 goddamn years in Hell, and if anyone tries to stop him from making his brother comfortable, then there would be hell to pay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dean's POV**

It had been 3 weeks, and Sam didn't seem to be getting any better. He slept basically all day, he barely ate, and when he was awake, the only time he made any indication that he knew I was there was when I forgot what the doctors had told me, and I touched him. Every time, no matter how softly, he flinched violently and shut down even more, if possible. They said he was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. I visited every day, though. I wouldn't give up on him, no matter how frustrating this routine had begun to get. When I confirmed it was Sam, I had called Bobby. He made some calls and got Sam transferred to Sioux Falls General. I've tried talking to him, get him to open up. He doesn't even look in my direction, let alone respond. Which is why I decided that he needed to be closer to family. I convinced the doctors to discharge him. Now at Bobby's, Sam fell asleep almost immediately. But not for long.

Sam's screams had me up the stairs and in his room within seconds, Bobby on my tail. Sam was on the floor, screaming for someone to stop. Lucifer. My hatred for him suddenly spiked 200%. If I ever got my hands on him…

I was about to grab Sam and get him back in bed when I remembered not to touch him. So I watched, helpless, as my brother slowly calmed himself down, and that was when I noticed the significant change in Sam. When he jumped, he no longer looked like a child. I had no longer felt the overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around him and protect him from the world. But now, staring at him, he looked 22 again. Just like he did at Stanford. The shaggy brown hair, tanned skin, dimples, and his slim yet tall body. Except he WAS different. His facial hair had grown a bit, now showing pretty significantly. There was a scar on his eye, no matter how faint, it was there. And the one on his cheek. The burn on his neck had actually healed almost completely during his time in the hospital. Then that feeling of overprotectiveness that I hadn't felt in 5 years came rushing back. Suddenly I couldn't help myself and I was surging forward, wrapping my arms around him.

I expected him to fight me, which he did, at first, before he went limp in my arms and sobbed, giving up, occasionally pleading to let him go, and it broke my heart. I couldn't bear to see him like this. So I held him and whispered that everything was going to be alright, even if it wasn't. I didn't care. I needed my brother back, now more than ever. Then he uttered the one word I had been waiting to hear for a month.

"Dean?"

**Sam's POV**

I didn't know what to believe. Dean visited me in the hospital every day until he finally moved me back to Bobby's house. It just didn't seem real. I barely remember Dean. He's just a faint memory. Someone I knew, but for the life of me, the memories of him have faded and been blocked out by years of pain and false hope. Of course, Lucifer had used Dean's face. And of course, Lucifer created fake realities for me to believe. And at first, I did. I played along, genuinely believing I got out. But then he ripped me out of it and I broke a little bit more every time. So I did the only thing that made sense. I blocked it out. I made myself build a wall in front of Dean and Bobby and my old life. So when Lucifer played that game again, about 300 years ago, it was the last. It didn't work. And he resorted to physical torture again. Which, I have to admit, wasn't ideal. But it let me forget, and move on, and I could only hope Dean and Bobby did too. Obviously not, if the way they linger over me is any indication. I want to believe that it is real, that I got out, mainly because I did build that wall. And now I'm back with them again, no matter how much I can actually remember. But a part of me keeps telling myself that it is another of Lucifer's games, that he dug up those memories from the deepest parts of my mind to make me believe it. And that part always wins out. So I don't speak. I don't let them in, just to avoid the painful truth of the Cage. Nothing you see is real.

That's why when I felt Dean wrap his arms around me in the middle of Lucifer snapping my ribs in half, I realize that it was a nightmare and that I feel safe. It's crazy. For the first time in almost five centuries, I feel safe. I almost laugh at that. But I vaguely hear him whispering that everything will be okay, and for a minute, just a minute, I let myself believe it. I let him in. I slowly say his name back, cringing at the hoarseness of my voice. He looks at me in relief with tears in his eyes. I quickly look away, and I immerse myself into my own mind again.

**Dean's POV**

That moment he said my name, I felt the happiest I ever had before. Well, maybe not ever. But in the last 4 years, definitely. Then I saw him recede into his mind again. At least it was progress. Without thinking, I ask is he wants to talk, and I almost slap myself, before he turns around and answers, to my complete surprise.

"I'm tired, Dean," he says, sounding exhausted.

"Sam, come on man. I just got you back a month ago, and you haven't said a word that entire time. Please, just talk to me, okay?" I plead with him. He doesn't answer.

"Sammy? Look, I know what you're going through, so if you want to—"

"—no you don't," he says with a slight scoff.

"Excuse me? Sam, I went to Hell, okay? I know a thing or two about torture," I say in shock.

"No, you don't Dean! I wasn't just in Hell, Dean. I was in the Cage. Lucifer's Cage. With Michael and the Devil himself. So don't say you understand cause you don't. I said I don't want to talk about it, so leave it alone. Just let me sleep," he snaps, laying back down.

I walk away in anger. But the worst part is, he's right. I don't know what he went through. I was in the pit for 40 years. Sam was there for 480. That's not comparable, just like Alastair and Lucifer. He may have brushed it off, but he's not alone. And he's going to know that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sam's POV**

I wasn't actually sleeping. I wouldn't tell Dean, that, though. He would push me to talk about my feelings and shit and I'm not ready for that. I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that. He says he understands. And I'm sure he has an idea. But the Cage wasn't anything like being on the rack. Lucifer never got bored. In the four hundred and eighty years I was down there, he never ran out of ideas. Every day, it was something new. Dean couldn't even begin to try to understand that. So when I was sure he was asleep, I decided to go for a run. I knew I wouldn't be going back to sleep, not tonight. The nightmares would take control and I am not in the mood to handle that. Before I knew it, I was 7 miles from Bobby's house, and the clock showed it was still only 2 am. I made my way back, keeping up the hard sprint the entire way. It cleared my head, let me forget about the horrors of Hell, if only for an hour or two. By the time I got back, I found Dean sitting on the couch, coffee in hand, waiting for me.

"Sam. Where the hell have you been?" He asks with anger in his voice.

"Out," I respond with carelessness.

"Out? Are you kidding me? I went to check on you 20 minutes after I left and you were gone! What the hell were you thinking? Just leaving like that?" He yells.

"You know what, Dean! Just leave me alone, okay. I can't deal with this right now," I say, heading back to my room. I barely reach the third step before he says it.

"You're a fucking coward, you know that?" He growls. At that, I whirl around and face him.

"I'm a fucking coward? Me? You have no idea what happened down there, Dean. Things you can't even imagine. You don't get to call me a coward," I yell, reaching the top of the stairs. At this point, Bobby had woken up and joined us on the staircase.

"What the hell is going on out here? Have you boys ever heard of sleep?" Bobby mumbles.

"Yeah, Bobby, sorry, I was just leaving. Tell Dean I'll see him sometime," I growl before heading to my room to pack my bags.

I reach my room and slam the door. I was thinking about cooling off, letting it go. Dean didn't mean it. But when he said that, it sounded exactly like Lucifer. All those centuries of berating me, I almost slipped. It's been weeks. I know that. And I truly believe I'm out. I figure, if I don't give it a chance, then I'll never get to live my life. So I let myself believe it. Which is why I'm leaving. Dean will never give it up. For someone who was so against talking about Hell, it's amazing how much he's pushed me in the past month to talk about it. I just need some time, that's what I'll tell him.

I leave the note on the bed and jump out the window. My early morning run didn't exactly help ease my still aching ribs, but I would be fine. I've had worse. Much worse.

I at least had the sense to pack clothes and my laptop. I get to the closest gas station and check my bank accounts from when I was at Stanford. I kept them open in case I ever needed extra money. I never told Dean about them, he'd end up stealing my money. Luckily for me, they were all still open. Granted, I only had three. But I managed to get a grand total of 1 million into each account. Yeah, the things I did for money in college may have not been the most honest ways, but I'm well off now.

I laugh as I realize I can do whatever the hell I want with my life. I'm free. Not to mention the fact, that well, I've gone back like, 7 years in age. I try not to think about how ironic it is that the age I went back to was right before I went to the dark side. I haven't drank demon blood yet, haven't killed, I can live my life freely, no worries.

The first thing I do is buy myself a truck. I'd always wanted one, but there was no way Dean would give up the Impala, and there's no reason to travel separately in our jobs. Plus, it's expensive. So I get a ride to the nearest dealership where I end up buying a matte gray four-door dodge ram pick-up. I smile as it starts smoothly.

I don't really know where I'm going. I decide to head towards Seattle, it'll be easy to hide there. And, well, Jessica always wanted to live there. She made it very clear that's where she would grow old. So I guess I'm kind of doing it in her honor. I look it up. Awesome. A 22-hour drive.

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**Dean's POV**

The second I say it, I regret it. How could I say that? I blank out until I realize Sam is no longer on the stairs and I am sitting on the couch, with Bobby handing me another cup of coffee.

"What the hell did you say to your brother, Dean?" Bobby asks me, and I immediately feel even guiltier.

"I said he's a coward," I say, not caring about Bobby's reaction.

"Boy, are you stupid? Sam just spent the better part of five centuries being tortured by Lucifer. The Devil. He just started talking again. As if you don't see the proof of it every day," Bobby says, clearly angry.

"I know, Bobby. You think I feel any better? I don't know what I was thinking. I was just mad. He wasn't opening up to me," I say.

"Seriously? Like you came back and told Sam every detail of your time in Hell? Dean, what do you think Lucifer did down there with Sam? Play cards? Share a beer? I'm sure it wasn't that peaceful. But hey, maybe I'm wrong. Right now, though, you need to go check on your brother and apologize before he shuts you out for good," Bobby says and I get up, thanking him.

I knock on the door, and when it opens, I look inside and Sam's… not there. I think maybe he's in the bathroom when I catch a glimpse of paper on the bed. Before I can finish it, I'm down the stairs and on the computer, checking street cams and ATM cameras.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Bobby asks.

"Sam's gone. He left a note. I need to find him," I say in a panic.

"He's what? What do you mean he's gone?" Bobby said.

"I mean he packed his things and left. Found him!" I yell.

"Where?"

"On a street camera. But nothing after that. Shit!" I yell, slamming the laptop closed before grabbing my keys and rushing out the door.

Before Bobby can even react, Dean was also gone, off to find his brother. He almost follows, but then goes back inside to follow the street cameras. It was their best hope.

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**Sam's POV**

By the time I reach Seattle, I'm completely exhausted. I was able to find a very low-priced motel to stay in for the night, but I know I won't be sleeping. The nightmares will only be getting worse. I know they will.

I find myself sitting on the bed an hour later, bored out of my mind. The flashbacks that keep running through my head just keep getting more and more intense, giving me massive headaches, almost worse than when I was having death visions.

I finally can't take it anymore, so I leave, slamming the door shut behind me, going to find something to make them stop. Anything.

I stumbled around for 10 minutes before I wander into an alley and a guy comes up to me, offering me a small bag of white powder.

"You look like you need it, man," he says. I find myself giving in.

"How much?" I ask.

"Fifty," he says.

"Come on, man," I say.

"Forty-five," he says.

I give in and I fish 45 bucks out of my wallet, grabbing the drugs and stumbling back to my room.

I suddenly remember Stanford, and the feeling of getting high, and how good it felt. I laid the cocaine out on the coffee table, and in just a few seconds, I was feeling better than ever. And the headaches were finally gone.

I passed out on the floor, having no nightmares for once.

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**Dean's POV**

"Damn it, Bobby! We have to find him!" Dean yells, slamming his hand down on the table.

"Calm down, Dean, we will. But we're not gonna get anywhere with you breaking things. Now, where would he go? Somewhere that means something to him," Bobby starts.

"I don't—I don't know. He never mentioned anywhere special, and we moved around so much, I have no idea," Dean says.

"Think," Bobby pushes.

"I am thinking! I have no idea!" Dean yells.

"Hey! Alright, fine. Just trying to help," Bobby says.

"I know, I'm sorry, it's just. Why would he run away like that? He's been struggling, but—" Dean says, stopping mid-sentence.

"What?" Bobby asks.

"I just thought of somewhere he might go," Dean says.

"Great! Where?" Bobby asks.

"Well, first I thought of Stanford, which is a possibility, but when we were kids, one time in Flagstaff, he ran away for about two weeks. He had a dog and everything. He might have gone there. It's just a thought," Dean says.

"Well, that's good enough for me. Let's go," Bobby says, and they get in the Impala, heading to Flagstaff, Arizona.

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**Sam's POV**

It had been a week since I left Sioux Falls behind, along with Dean and Bobby. I know I should probably call, tell them I'm okay, but I just can't bring myself to. I know they'll come running, and I don't want them to see me like this.

I had been using more and more ever since then. Whatever I could get my hands on, really. Mostly cocaine, sometimes heroin, or oxy. Whatever will make the nightmares go away.

Which is what I was doing right now. Trying to find a good fix. I could feel the effects of withdrawal starting. I finally saw a guy down the alley and headed towards him and we made a quick exchange.

Heroin. Good enough.

When I got back to the motel, I quickly got it ready and shot up. I sighed as I passed out, letting the blackness take me.

As I woke up, I quickly went searching for a razor I could use. The nightmare was still flashing through my mind and the pain would make them go away.

I rushed to the bathroom and gasped at the sudden pain it brought, but then sighed in relief as the numb feeling I had always looked forward to returned.

Then I realized that the cut on my wrist was bleeding a little too much, and before I could get a towel on it, I had passed out, bleeding out on the floor.

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**Dean's POV**

Flagstaff had been a bust. Nobody there had seen Sam and he didn't seem to be there. We had been on the way back to Sioux Falls when I remembered back before Sam had gone to Hell.

He had been talking about Jessica, one of the rare times that he did. He talked about how she loved Seattle so much. He said they had planned to grow old together there.

"Bobby! He's in Seattle!" I yelled suddenly.

"What? How do you know?" Bobby asked.

"Sam used to talk about living there with Jessica. Now, with everything that's happened, it makes sense. Go back to the one place that brings you comfort. Seattle reminds him of Jessica," I say, and Bobby catches on.

"So he could have gone there to feel closer to her," he finishes, and I smile.

"Exactly."

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I was ready to give up. We had reached Seattle yesterday, and everybody we talked to hadn't seen Sam. On the way back to the motel, we saw a dealer in an alley just waiting for somebody to come by, and when that somebody did, Dean did a double-take.

It was Sam. It had to be. The chances were slim, Seattle was a huge city, and last he checked, Sam wasn't doing drugs. But, he matched the height, and the hair was similar so he parked, waiting to follow him home.

But he didn't go to a house. He walked up to a motel room and staggered inside. Me and Bobby decided to wait until morning to talk to him and rented the room next to his.

However, about an hour later, we heard a loud thud and then nothing. We ran to his room, and he was nowhere to be found until I checked the bathroom and saw Sammy lying there in a pool of his own blood.

"Sammy! Oh god, Sammy!" I yell, catching Bobby's attention, who runs in after me. He froze at the sight of Sam.

As I pull out my phone, Bobby asks me what I'm doing.

"Bobby, he needs an ambulance, look at him," I cry out, dialing the numbers.

"No, Dean, we can't bring him to a hospital, do you remember what happened in Detroit?" Bobby says, grabbing my phone.

I'm about to argue when I realize that Bobby's right. A hospital would freak him out, and then he'd be stuck there.

Making my decision, I tell Bobby to help me get him on the bed and get the first aid kit to patch him up.

"Oh Sammy, what have you done," I say, also noticing the empty syringe next to the bed.


End file.
